#hotcoplangley

This was a thing, now.

Joanie groaned as she looked at the images of her slightly flushed face from Tuesday. Someone, she had no idea who, had created this hashtag, whatever that was, and attached it to images and videos of her being interviewed at the scene of that accident, which had taken most of the day to clear.

"It's not terrible," Fatima said as she looked at the screen over her shoulder. She was the one who first brought her attention to the phenomenon, which Joanie didn't quite understand but still felt indignant about, knowing someone was out there commenting on her like this.

"Oh, yeah?" Joanie asked wryly. "Would you want your image attached to this thing? It could easily apply to anybody serving as a police officer in the city and township of Langley." And if there were any other cities named Langley other than in B.C., other police might find themselves tagged here without their knowledge.

"Well, I guess I wouldn't," Fatima admitted, "but only because I don't want to distress my parents; they worry enough about me as it is with the danger inherent in this profession, as well as the racism and Islamophobia in the community I police."

"Uh-huh," Joanie said absently, still seething at image after image of her. Who was posting this shit?! All of the handles attached to the posts appeared to be created to be purposefully anonymous, impervious to tracking down and confronting.

"I know who I'd like to tag with that hashtag, though," Fatima, younger than her and more comfortable with using social media, said.

Joanie turned to face her. "You're not still hot for your partner, are you? You know he's still married, right?"

Fatima sighed in resignation. "I know. My parents certainly wouldn't want me dating a white guy, and a married or divorced white guy even less. There's nothing wrong with a little harmless fantasy, though."

"Can I do anything to stop this from happening?" Joanie asked, pointing to the screen. "I haven't even officially taken over the role of media relations officer yet, and already I'm the subject of objectification."

Fatima grimaced. "Not really. As soon as anyone with a phone or camera uploads a photo or video of you and adds that tag, it's on there, and there's not much you can do about it." She flinched at what she saw on Joanie's face and said, "You're kind of a celebrity, now, and it just comes with the territory."

"I was briefly famous after the Battle of Barnet," Joanie grumbled. "There were media camped outside my house, and after that the creeps started coming round." It occurred to her that Joe was right, that taking on this role would bring that unwanted attention back on her. It infuriated her that she had to afford Joe credit for anything, because with that realization came another: she missed him, and she didn't want to, because she was still hurt by his admission.

"Shit," Fatima said, shaking her head in sympathy. "That would indeed suck."

"If the wrong person sees my mug on TV and remembers my address, my safety could be in jeopardy again." Joanie sprang out of her chair and charged for Superintendent Baker's office. 

She knocked and waited for him to give her leave to enter before going in. She saluted him and he asked, "What can I do for you, Sergeant Mara?"

"Sir, I need to bring to your attention an unintended consequence of my taking on the role of media relations officer for the department."

His eyebrows rose. "What's that, Sergeant?"

"Do you know what a hashtag is, sir?"

"A what?"

She groaned inwardly at the explaining she would have to do, since she barely understood more than he did. "Could I use your computer to demonstrate, sir? It would just be to use the World Wide Web."

"Uh, hold on." He clicked with his mouse for a few seconds, most likely to close sensitive documents meant for top brass only, or... Joanie didn't want to even think about it... his own Internet porn. Once he was satisfied, he rose from his chair and gestured to it, stepping away to give her space.

She sat in his chair, trying not to notice it was warm from her superior's behind. She typed #hotcoplangley into the search bar, and up came the images. She stood and went back around the desk, and he sat back in his chair and looked at the images. 

"These appear to be from the scrum you attended with Natychuk on Tuesday," he said. "What's the trouble?"

"Sir, that phrase at the top, which looks like a number sign with a string of words, is called a hashtag. That hashtag is being used to refer to me. If I take on this role, every interview I give, every picture taken of me, can be tagged and added to the images already there. I find the hashtag offensive and demeaning, and I wonder at the intentions of whoever created it, whether it's malicious or just some creep's idea of a shrine to me. You remember the troubles I had after I got the Cross of Valour medal."

"I do," he said. "You worry it will start all over again."

"I do, sir."

He sighed and closed his eyes, massaging them through the lids. "Are you saying, Sergeant, that you no longer wish to take the role?"

She shrugged. "I just can't help feeling like I'll be a liability now."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. "How so?"

"You want me to represent the detachment. I fear that I'll only bring disrepute on the detachment if people see me on TV and see, not a police officer, but a sex object."

Baker blushed a little and cleared his throat. 

She added, "And I might have to move this time, if I'm constantly worrying someone's going to knock on my door in the middle of the night, wanting to meet me."

Baker scratched his chin in thought. After a moment, he said, "While this is concerning, Sergeant, I have to disagree that your image will have a negative impact on the detachment. You were very well received by the media, and they reported a spike in viewership on their evening news programs when they played the segment in which you were interviewed."

She stared at him, dumbstruck, and he went on. "I imagine whoever is posting these represent a tiny minority of the population. The majority will watch the news, see you giving information, and maybe pay closer attention because it's you who's giving it. I'd say that's a positive thing. We can try to manage the chatter on the Internet; maybe we can contact the people posting these images behind the scenes, ask them to take them down or have a little more respect in how they post."

Baker was adorably naive if he thought he'd be able to get through to anonymous trolls, but she appreciated his willingness to help.

"Also," he said, "you'll be accompanied at every news conference by a partner for added security and peace of mind, and if you feel your home situation has been compromised, we can move you to a more secure accommodation."

Joanie's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You'd do this for me just to keep me in this role?"

"Sergeant Mara," he said, "we want you to feel you can perform this duty without fear. It's important work, and no crank or fan with an unhealthy obsession should feel like they can chase you away from it."

She felt a warmth bloom in her chest. She knew she had a good reputation in the detachment, especially after the Battle of Barnet, but never before had she felt like the whole detachment, especially the top brass, had her back. "Thank you, sir," she said. "That means a lot to me. I'll continue on and try not to let this get to me. If, however, you feel the detachment's reputation has become tarnished by further nonsense like this, please remove me from the role."

Baker sighed and nodded. "I'll take your suggestion into consideration. Now, get back out there and do your job as well as you always do. Dismissed."

She saluted and left the office with a new spring in her step.

Then ran right into Patrick Marinville as he was passing by.

It was like running into a brick wall, but Patrick also stumbled, since she wasn't little either. She hissed and rubbed at her forehead where she made contact with his cheekbone. "Jesus," she said. "You need emergency lights to let people know you're coming."

"I could say the same about you, Sergeant," Patrick said as he gingerly patted his own cheek.

"I'm glad I ran into you, literally," she said, smiling.

"Oh, yeah?" he said with a hopeful smile of his own.

"Yes. I need to talk to you. Do you have time?"

He shrugged. "I need to get out in the car with al-Rashad soon, but maybe a couple of minutes. She showed me the hashtag thing."

She groaned. "That fucking thing."

He followed her back to her desk. "I take it you're not happy?" he asked.

"Would you be if that was you?"

He cleared his throat and said, "Uh, well, no, but only because I don't want my image on the Internet."

She looked around to make sure no one was within hearing range, then leaned in and said, "Don't want people in Kelowna knowing where you are?"

He visibly started.

"I think it's too late for that anyway," she went on.

She could see him changing his features as if trying to steer a large car without power steering. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said unconvincingly.

"Patrick," she said, disappointed. "I was at the scene of that accident on Tuesday, where all those hashtagged images came from. I accompanied detectives to the hospital to interview the victims who hit the traffic light pole."

He stared at her wordlessly.

"They had information about the vehicle that ran them off the road," she added. "We also found out the plates on their car were stolen in Kelowna."

He still said nothing. She shrugged and said, "Okay. If you want to play it that way."

She sat behind her desk and closed the window with the images of her. He still stood there. She looked up at him and said, "That's all I had to talk to you about. If you need to go..."

"What do you know?" he asked.

"Honestly? That's it. All I wanted to do was give you a heads up in case Internal comes asking questions. My advice is to fess up right away; if you spin it right, you might be able to keep your job and stay out of jail."

"You mean confess about..."

"The accident. I have no idea who those guys are, not yet, anyway, and frankly I don't care."

He looked away for a moment, blinking rapidly. She could almost see the gears grinding in his head. He looked back at her and smiled faintly. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up."

"Okay."

He chuckled ruefully and said, "When you said you needed to talk to me, I was hoping it would be for another reason."

She blinked in surprise. "What's that?"

He blushed and said, "It's stupid, now that I think about it."

"What?" she asked more firmly.

He looked around to make sure no one was listening and said, sotto voce, "I was hoping you were going to ask me out."

She barked a laugh and said, "Somebody's full of themselves."

"I know, that's why it's stupid. I guess it came to me because I was thinking of asking you out."

Now that the initial shock and absurdity of it had worn off, she found that her heart was beating in her throat. "Aside from the fact that it's a bad idea for officers to date each other, aren't you married?" she asked, completely aware of how rich it was that she was asking him that question when she'd been completely happy seeing a married man for close to two years.

He nodded sadly. "As it happens, I've just been served divorce papers today."

"Oh!" She hadn't meant to sound so pleased. So, Agnes and Sunny had finally gotten to it.

"Anyway, if you're not keen, then no worries," he stammered.

She examined him for a moment, not only to make him squirm a little, but to give herself time to formulate her answer, because she didn't know what it was yet. Her brain was telling her it was probably a bad idea, but her body was telling her something completely different.

"How about coffee after your shift's over?" she asked. She had the morning shift, while he had the afternoon shift. They'd probably be meeting close to midnight, but her next shift wasn't until the next afternoon.

He smiled sweetly at her and said, "You're on. Want to exchange digits?"

She offered him her phone, in which he entered his phone number. She sent him a text with it to give him her own. Hello.

He smiled goofily at her and sent a text back. Hello, yourself!

She realized this was the exact first text exchange she'd had with Joe, except in reverse, because this time she'd sent the opening salvo.

"Text me where you want to meet," he said, then saluted her, cheekily this time. "See you then, Sergeant."

Joanie watched him leave, wondering again if she'd just made a big mistake.

Thanks for reading this far! If you liked what you just read, hit "Vote" to send this title up the ranks. If anything about police procedure doesn't ring true, leave a comment and let me know; I strive for authenticity.

To see how Al's doing with his physiotherapy, and how he deals with an offer Rachel makes him, click on "Continue reading."